by Alex Janaway
‘Yag?’ asked Father Michael.
Gantak sighed and growled out something. Then he looked Father Michael in the eye. ‘Yag.’
‘Thanks. Ah, Naska,’ Father Michael replied.
Scowling, Gantak stepped aside and allowed Father Michael to pass, Father Llews hanging excitedly by his side and his two Nidhal following behind.
As Father Michael swung his way onwards, sweating with the effort of moving and fighting back the sharp, stinging pain in his side, he had to give it to the Nidhal’s shamans. They had skill. No Tissan surgeon could have done what they did. Not out here in the wilds.
He made his slow progression along the Nidhal column, nodding occasionally to those he recognised. Most remained mounted, and kept their vargr in check when the creatures caught wind of Father Michael, any old familiarity lost to the scent of his wounded body.
A minute more’s hobbling got him to where the Emperor stood, his hand resting against his mount’s head. Next to him stood Cadarn. Hilja was a short way off to the side, a respectful distance being kept between her and the vargr. In the sky, the other eagles were patrolling in wide circles, riding the thermals.
To his other side was Ellen, her hands clasped behind her back, with Nutaaq a little way behind her. Of the Empress, there was no sign.
The Emperor turned as he approached, an eyebrow raised. ‘Ah, Father. Stubborn as always. Good, good. You should see this.’ He beckoned him forward and Cadarn made a space for him.
He took his position and looked out over the planted fields of New Tissan. The place looked empty. No one worked the fields. No one stood watch.
‘What does this mean?’ Father Michael asked.
‘It means that they know we are here,’ said the Emperor.
‘My Riders report that there is a large gathering in the square,’ said Cadarn to Father Michael.
‘Where else would they be?’ said the Emperor.
‘They could have cut and run,’ said Father Michael.
The Emperor shook his head. ‘That is not Yarn’s way. I misjudged her. In many matters. But I have never thought her a coward.’
‘Your Grace?’ asked Ellen, quietly. The Emperor stiffened at her voice but responded evenly.
‘Yes?’
‘Nutaaq wishes to know if we are going to storm the town.’ She was tentative, almost apologetic in her tone. It had been that way since her return to the fold. As far as Father Michael could see it, the Emperor suffered her presence out of necessity. That she was the one who talked Nutaaq into riding to his aid gave her little credit. But she was a Gifted, and therefore tainted. Unfortunately she was also still the only one who could communicate effectively with their allies. Whatever she might be, Father Michael found he held no ill will towards the girl. She had not let them down.
‘We will ride into town. This is still New Tissan, my capital. I mean to retake it, not raze it to the ground.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’ Ellen turned towards Nutaaq.
‘Come along,’ said the Emperor, placing a hand on Father Michael’s shoulder.
Together they slowly walked back along the line of Nidhal. Midway along they stopped by a large wagon drawn by two draft horses. It was a ramshackle affair with a hide roof covering the wagon bed. It had been given to Gantak as his home on the move, but had been requisitioned to house the Empress. She sat next to the shaman, a strange look on her face. Father Michael had already surmised she was still in a state of shock, especially at the rough living she had had to endure. And the smell.
‘Help him up,’ ordered the Emperor to Father Michael’s Nidhal attendants. They did not need to understand the human tongue to know what to do.
‘I’ll see you inside,’ said the Emperor. He walked back to the head of the column, where another draft horse was waiting for him. Both he and Ellen would ride at the head of the column.
With a fair amount of pushing and pulling, Father Michael was hauled up on to the wagon’s bench and settled himself next to Gantak.
He nodded to the Empress. ‘Your Grace, are you well?’ he asked.
The Empress struggled with the effort to be gracious. ‘Yes, quite well. This nightmare will soon be over. Father Llews has told me that we will soon avenge ourselves.’
‘I am sure,’ said Father Michael, loyally.
Father Llews jogged past. A few moments later Father Michael could hear him climbing into the back of the wagon.
A horn sounded from the front of the line, and the vargr padded forwards. With a growl, Gantak shook the reins and the horses started to move.
Father Michael cursed as he was jolted back in his seat, a sharp pain in his side. He caught Gantak eyeing him.
‘I’m fine!’ said Father Michael.
Gantak grunted and turned back to his driving.
The column made its way along the track leading into the town proper. As they passed by the first of the dwellings, Father Michael scanned for any movement but he saw none. They penetrated further now, passing the larger structures, the houses, barns and workshops. And here, finally, he saw signs of life. Faces watching from the shadows, from half open doorways. Fearful, afraid. But why should they be? Their Emperor had returned.
Further in they went, and on the final stretch to the square, the column halted once more. Father Michael carefully took hold of the bench and leaned out to the side. He could see a gathering at the front. A number of Tissans on foot. He squinted. They looked like soldiers. They were armed at least. Words were being exchanged with the Emperor. After a few more moments, the column started again and the group of Tissans, fell into step with the Nidhal. Finally. Someone had decided now was the time to rise up in support of their lord.
The column filed into the square. As the wagon followed them in, he saw the Nidhal were forming a line, facing northwards, towards the Emperor’s old cabin. The wagon rolled on and parked up behind the centre of the line. The following Nidhal and their mounts padded past to continue to extend the line to the other side of the square. But Father Michael only had eyes for what waited for them.
The Empress gasped and put a hand to her mouth.
‘Oh my Emperor,’ mouthed Father Llews, as he craned his neck around the hide coverings.
Father Michael looked for his helpers. He couldn’t see them but he would be damned to sit here and wait. He lowered his crutch down, and then shifted his legs so they hung over the side. His teeth already gritted from the pain he started to push himself off. His arms shook as his weakened muscles betrayed him and he started to lose control. Just as he was going to tumble off the wagon, Weguek appeared and caught him.
‘Aaaah, shit!’ Father Michael cursed, as he grasped the Nidhal’s shoulders.
‘Yag?’ asked Weguek, concern in his eyes. ‘Tak?’
Father Michael took a few deep breaths.
‘Tak,’ he whispered. ‘Yag. Yag.’
Weguek released him and gathered the crutch.
Father Michael took it, and made his way through the Nidhal to join his Emperor. He was surrounded by a clutch of armed men and women. Remnants of the Imperial army who must have survived the Gifted’s purge. They looked pissed off and determined in equal measure.
Father Michael stopped by the Emperor’s horse and looked on at the welcome gathering.
Yarn stood on the podium wearing her armour and flanked by two Gifted. A huge crowd of Tissans were arrayed to either side of the platform, and in front of them a line of a further twenty Gifted stood at the ready, shields locked tight to their chests and spears held horizontally. In front of each one, were two citizens of the Empire, a man and a woman, on their knees facing towards the new arrivals.
‘Your Grace, you have returned to us,’ said Yarn loudly.
‘And I have not come alone,’ replied the Emperor.
‘Indeed not. I have been looking forward to meeting our new allies. Thank you for bringing them. We have much to discuss,’ she said in a friendly tone.
‘You have nothing to discuss. Though
I will hear your plea for mercy.’
‘I will plead for mercy, Your Grace, but not for me or mine. I beg you to consider what you face,’ Yarn said, gesturing at the kneeling Tissans and then at the crowd. ‘If you do not consent to return to rule with my guidance and counsel, then I am forced with offering you another lesson. One which I had thought you might have already learned.’
She nodded her head and the Gifted took a step forward in unison. Behind them the crowd shifted. Father Michael heard a wail. Someone began to sob.
‘Each man and woman are parents to at least two children …’ Yarn let the statement hang.
‘I have three hundred Nidhal. I have Eagle Riders. I have loyal soldiers about me. You are outnumbered,’ replied the Emperor.
‘Numbers do not matter, Your Grace. If you attack, many, many, of your loyal citizenry will die. All because you are too blind. Because you are too arrogant. How many more have to die because of your selfishness, your greed. Is not an Empire’s death enough for the line of Living Gods?’ she spat.
Father Michael was shocked rigid. The Emperor was silent for a moment. Then he slowly, deliberately climbed off his horse. He pushed past Father Michael and went to stand midway between the two groups.
‘Yarn. You are fool. You have played a desperate hand. You thought I might be cowed into submission at the sight of my beloved people under threat. You have it wrong.’
Father Michael was alerted to a ruckus coming from the eastern exit of the square. A few moments later a gaggle of marines burst into view. At their head was Corporal, no, Sergeant Fenner.
As his people took up firing positions, Fenner saluted. ‘Admiral sends his regards, Sir.’
The Emperor raised a hand in acknowledgement.
‘You see, Yarn? You see what your malformed Gifted brain has failed to understand?’ he asked.
Yarn shook her head. ‘Enlighten me with your wisdom, Your Grace.’
‘My people love me. They love me so much they are prepared to fight and die for me.’ He turned and pointed at Father Michael. ‘Look. Look at the Father here. He embraced death willingly to save my life. He sacrificed himself to kill your best, the traitor Eilion. And yet, here he stands. Saved by the skills of the Nidhal and the love of his grateful Emperor. How many Gifted have you lost now? Your numbers are growing thin.’
Yarn folded her arms and shook her head. ‘You are truly mad,’ she said quietly.
‘I am? Who is the one who thought she could defy her Emperor? Look at what you are threatening to do? You would kill innocents? To prove a point? You would slaughter them?’ He took another step forward. ‘I will not submit. I will order my warriors to charge and you will kill countless Tissans. And then you will die. And what will it all be for? My people love me. They follow me. If they must die, they die for me. Not for you.’ He took another step closer. Father Michael tensed. The Emperor was getting too close.
‘How much more blood do you want on your hands? Your gambit has failed. I will not stand down. I ask you again. How much blood?’
The Cardinal did not respond. She looked at the Gifted beside her. At those below. And at the crowd of Tissans who, in turn looked at her with anger and fear. The Emperor raised a hand and, as one, the gathered Nidhal nocked arrows and raised their bows.
The crowd let out a collective gasp.
Yarn sighed heavily.
‘You would kill us all? All the Gifted?’
The Emperor barked out a laugh.
‘Kill you? You think you deserve death? You deserve punishment.’
‘Not all participated in the actions I ordered.’
‘And none of them tried to stop you.’
Yarn lowered her hands to her sides.
‘Very well. I will not see the people of New Tissan shed any more blood for a failed enterprise. You might wish to consider that … Your Grace.’ She looked once more at her Gifted then hung her head. ‘All of you stand down.’
Those on the ground shifted and looked at each other. One of the Gifted on the platform stepped up to her and whispered in her ear. She raised a hand, and muttered something Father Michael could not make out.
She looked up and faced the Emperor. Once more she gave the order. ‘I said, stand down! Lower your weapons. We are not the monsters here.’
Slowly, one by one, the Gifted stepped back from the kneeling Tissans. They began dropping shields and spears, unbuckling sword belts and removing helmets. Then they clustered together. There were murmurings in the crowd, growing in volume. Those on the ground looked back at their captors, and realising they were released, helped each other up and hurried away from the standoff. Voices were raised, shouts against the Gifted and for the Emperor rang out. Father Michael sensed the people’s manner was becoming ugly, promising violence. That was another thing he had learned in the arena.
The Emperor turned to Cadarn and beckoned him over. ‘Use the soldiers and marines, take the Gifted into custody.’
‘Yes, Your Grace,’ said Cadarn.
‘Also,’ said the Emperor, looking hard at Yarn. ‘I want you to separate the Shapers from the others. Take them to one side. And then kill them.’
‘My Lord,’ said Cadarn. ‘Are you–?’
‘Do it in front of the others. I don’t care how you do it. Shoot them, I suppose. The marines have their crossbows. But not Yarn. Keep her with the others, for now. I want her to live.’
Cadarn hesitated for one moment and the Emperor turned his head sharply to look at him. ‘Do you understand?’
Cadarn nodded. ‘Yes, my Lord.’ He called forward the gathered soldiers and marines. He raised a hand and beckoned Fenner and his command over as well. Father Michael listened in.
‘We have to get control of this situation, quickly. Sergeant Fenner, please take command of the soldiers here. I will take your marines with me and put the Gifted in custody.’
‘I should stay with my people,’ protested Fenner.
Cadarn raised a hand.
‘The Emperor has given me the responsibility. Just do it, Sergeant.’
Fenner, his face reddening, closed his mouth and nodded.
‘As you say, Sir. Alright marines, follow the Leader here. Take good care of them Gifted. The rest of you lot, follow me. We need to disperse this crowd before things go tits up.’
The group of soldiers and marines split up and headed for the Gifted. Cadarn was barking orders at the marines who began to form a circle around the Gifted. Yarn and her companions dismounted the podium.
Someone touched Father Michael’s left arm and he flinched despite himself. He looked down at Ellen. Her face was grave. ‘I just wanted to say, I’m sorry. I would never have wanted this to happen.’
Father Michael nodded. ‘I know, but if you had been here, you would have followed her orders. What choice would you have had?’
Ellen shrugged. ‘It seems to me we always have a choice.’
‘Perhaps you are right.’
Ellen smiled a sad smile. ‘Anyway. I’ve come to say goodbye. I’m sure the Emperor will not want me around anymore.’
She turned to go.
He reached out with his free hand and grabbed her shoulder.
‘Wait.’
There was no need for this.
‘Emperor?’ he called. ‘Your Grace?’
The Emperor turned and Father Michael hobbled forward a few steps. ‘What orders should Ellen pass to the Nidhal? I’m sure Nutaaq will want to know how things will play out now that you have regained your rightful place.’
The Emperor tilted his head and for a moment he looked angry and then thoughtful. He stared hard at Ellen.
‘You are to inform Nutaaq that all is well. You are to tell him that I am grateful for all his support and that I invite him and his Nidhal to set a camp. Tonight, there will be a feast in his honour. I will bring the ale.’
Ellen nodded. ‘At once, Your Grace.’
She turned to go and sent a grateful smile Father Michael’s way.
&
nbsp; The Emperor looked around the gathering. ‘Father Llews?’
‘Yes, Your Grace?’ said Father Llews, scurrying up nervously from between two growling vargr.
‘You said you knew the blacksmiths?’
‘Yes, Your Grace. I have spent much time with them. I enjoyed watching them work.’
‘Go to them. Explain to them the design of the collars. Take with you some of the soldiers to make the point. I want the first lot ready by tomorrow morning, as many as they can manage. She can have the first of them.’ The Emperor pointed at Ellen.
‘As you wish,’ said Father Llews, bowing as he backed away. Father Michael watched him chase across to speak to Fenner.
‘Father Michael,’ said the Emperor, walking over to join him.
‘Your Grace.’
‘You have a sour look on your face. Do you not approve?’
‘It’s not my place to question your judgement, Your Grace,’ said Father Michael.
‘If only more thought that way,’ replied the Emperor with a rueful smile. He turned to watch Father Llews chivvy along two soldiers. ‘Now that we have returned, I find myself bereft of a council and indeed counsellors. I am lucky to have the good Father there. He represents the last of the Imperial religion – not counting yourself, Father. But I look upon you as something other. You are my strong, right arm.’
‘Not so strong right now,’ muttered Father Michael.
The Emperor laughed.
‘Do not worry, you will have plenty of time to recover. Now, I must go and fetch my mother and take her home. Then I will get to work. I want us ready to sail in the spring.’
